


oh, but he loves like sleep to the freezing (i'm all but wasted in the tide of his breath)

by johnil



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cigarettes, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, Trans Male Character, apparently this is heavier than light angst so i have to fix my tags now, dialogue heavy towards the end, doyoung is whipped, doyoung needs to get a grip, gas station shenanigans, nctrans, snickers candy bars are the staple of this fic, this is a long ride, yoonoh just wants some snickers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnil/pseuds/johnil
Summary: Doyoung  is a gas station worker who has an unhealthy fascination with the nameless boy in the gray hoodie who pays with ten dollar bills and never says a word to him.





	1. it looks ugly—but it's clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY this was a ride. i hope u enjoy!
> 
> (fic title and chapter title are both from [cherry wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtRIz7VocNs) by hozier!)

Doyoung honestly doesn’t know when his head hits the counter and he starts to drool. All he knows is that as soon as the door opens and the bell at the counter chimes a little song, he’s shooting up, back as straight as he can possibly make it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hwang,” Doyoung greets. “Are you well this morning?”

“I’m all right,” the old woman says, jumping slightly when her phone suddenly rings from inside of her purse. She holds a finger up, grabs her items, and answers her call.

“Hello, Yerim,” Mrs. Hwang says, scurrying up to the counter. “Yes, I know exactly why you’ve called. It’s the girl, isn’t it? Lord, I’ve forgotten what her name even was.” She pauses for a moment. “Jung? Jeon? Jo? Something with a J.”

Doyoung quickly scans her items, and she fishes a few dollars out of her purse to pay with.

“I _know,”_ Mrs. Hwang exclaims. “No, Yerim, I heard she was kicked out because she’s a faggot!”

Doyoung’s eyes widen. He tries his hardest not to flinch at the word.

As she exits the store, she shakes her head with a scowl on her face. “Her poor mother.”

And then, almost ceremoniously, the doors shut. Doyoung feels a wave of remorse wash over him—pure guilt for the girl, even if he didn’t cause this. She must’ve been young if she was still living with her mother.

Sighing softly, he rests his head on the counter and falls into yet another nap.

The next time he raises his head, his eyes blink open slowly to see the red numbers on the clock flash 8pm.

“And Yuta still isn’t here to take the night shift,” he mutters to himself. The door slides open, bringing a gust of cold wind inside. From the darkness emerges a tiny boy—dreadfully skinny—practically drowning in a stained gray hoodie. His pants are dirty and ripped, and the cuffs are caked with mud. Doyoung feels bad for him.

He scouts out the aisles and tries to find food, checking the prices and adding up his total in his head.

In the end, he walks up to the counter with three Snickers bars and hands them to Doyoung. He pays with a ten, doesn’t respond to Doyoung’s question—“How are you today?”—and leaves hurriedly. Poor kid.

“Hey, Doyoungie,” Yuta grins, suddenly bursting through the sliding doors as best as he can when they take a good five seconds to open. “I’m  here to relieve you.”

“About time,” Doyoung huffs, getting up from the counter and shoving his phone in his pocket. Yuta smiles apologetically, and Doyoung quickly clocks out. “Love you, bye!” he quips before he’s out the door, making his way around back, and getting in his car. He stops at Wendy’s and orders two meals, then drives home.

He struggles to carry two bags and two drinks up three flights of stairs, but since the elevator’s out of order, he makes do. Since he’s unable to get his keys out, he simply kicks the door three times with his foot. His call for help is answered in just under a minute, and the door swings open for Doyoung to run inside and drop the meals onto the counter.

“Hey,” Doyoung says breathlessly, pushing a bag and a drink towards his roommate. Taeil’s face is blank. “I brought food.”

“Thanks,” Taeil says, a little smile suddenly spreading across his face. He seats himself at the counter to eat, and Doyoung does the same. They eat in silence. When they’re done, Doyoung clears their trash, and Taeil grabs his hand gently, leading him into his bedroom. They fall onto the bed, Taeil practically wrapping himself around Doyoung as they settle.

“Long day?” Doyoung asks.

Taeil hums. “Tired day.”

Doyoung hums, and then he shuts his eyes and falls asleep.

“Did you hear the soup kitchen closed for good?” Taeil asks the next morning. Doyoung raises an eyebrow.

“Really? When?”

“Just a few days ago, I think.” And then he crams another mini-donut into his mouth.

“That sucks,” Doyoung says, frowning. “I hope it doesn’t affect too many people.”

Taeil sighs, and Doyoung, too, continues to eat his food. He’s out the door within the next ten minutes, practically booking it to the gas station so he can open it in time. It’s a shit job with shit pay, but it’s the only job he can manage to find that allows him to work above minimum wage while still attending class.

“You’re late,” none other than Nakamoto Yuta sings, emerging from the store with a grin that’s far too smug considering the time of day.

“Yeah, _well,”_ Doyoung grumbles, watching the doors slide open for him. He hurries inside to warm himself, and Yuta follows, clocking out. instead of leaving, though, Yuta takes a seat behind the counter.

“Don’t you have something better to do than stay here and interrupt my napping?” Doyoung whines, sitting in his usual seat behind the register.

“Nope,” Yuta grins. “Sicheng’s at work, and I have no class today.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. Sighing, he closes his eyes, lets his frame lean forward, and falls asleep.

Surprisingly, Yuta isn’t the one who wakes him up. Isn’t the ringing of the store bell as someone comes inside to fill up for gas. They pay, leave, and drive away, and soon, Doyoung is asleep once more. This time, Yuta naps, too. Doyoung didn’t even think Yuta was capable of being tired.

With a start, Doyoung wakes once more. He looks at the clock as another customer begins to browse the aisles. It’s already noon.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?” Doyoung asks the red-haired boy after he scans the items. The boy shakes his head, then pays with a ten dollar bill.

Doyoung thinks nothing of it.

About two hours later, a much younger boy—sixteen _at most—_ walks in, buys a bag of chips and a bottle of water, and pays with a five. He’s shaking with every movement. Doyoung can’t tell if he’s just malnourished or if something worse is at play. He refuses to speak, too. Just like the red haired boy and the boy in the hoodie.

“You know what this is because of, right?” Yuta asks with a sigh as soon as the doors slide shut behind the young boy.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow, shaking his head.

“The soup kitchen, Doyoung,” Yuta says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It closed down, and now everyone is using what little money they have to eat food from here.”

Doyoung nods with a grimace. He rubs his eyes, and then he bows his head and falls back asleep.

The last customer comes at around four o’clock. It’s the boy in the hoodie, Doyoung realizes, and he tries to make light conversation while trying not to wake Yuta, who’s snoring softly to his right. The boy pays with a ten, and only then does Doyoung see a large bruise on his wrist, angry and purple and blooming across the front of his hand.

Despite his attempts to have a conversation, the boy just shake his head, takes his Snickers bars, and leaves.

There’s something special about him, Doyoung thinks as the boy leaves. Something that makes him different.

Head swimming, he clocks out, nudges Yuta, grumbles, “Your shift,” and leaves.

It’s about another week of Snickers bars and failed conversations before Doyoung is finally able to get the boy to come out of his shell. Occasionally, he’ll earn a smile, maybe even a laugh, but never a verbal response. Doyoung thinks it’s progress.

“Hey!” Doyoung greets the boy with a smile as he walks through the sliding doors. The boy doesn’t even acknowledge him. His face is bright pink, and his eyes are rimmed red. He’s shaking, just like the young boy who occasionally comes in to buy chips and water.

He makes a beeline to the register without even getting his usual Snickers. That’s Doyoung’s second clue that something is wrong.

Doyoung looks at the item that the boy has dropped onto the counter, and his heart sinks.

A pack of Marlboros.

“Don’t buy this,” Doyoung says, pushing he pack towards the boy. “Get something else. Get something to eat.”

The boy takes the pack in his fingers and shoves it forward roughly. He refuses to meet Doyoung’s eyes.

With a sigh, Doyoung scans the pack of cigarettes and hands them to the boy. He pays with his ten dollar bill, just like always.

When he leaves, Doyoung doesn’t call out any parting words to him. Doyoung wonders if he even notices.

And that night, if he’s unresponsive to Taeil’s comforting hold, Taeil doesn’t say anything. He just hugs Doyoung tighter.

The boy doesn’t come in the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after _that._ Finally, though, after four days, he visits.

Doyoung raises his eyebrows a little when he notices that the boy isn’t alone. The red-haired boy is there, and so is the younger boy. The red-haired boy seems to be coaxing the youngest into finding something to eat.

“Come on, Sungie, just something to hold you over until the next time I get paid.”

The youngest— _Sungie,_ apparently—gulps, then nods and drags the red-haired boy to an aisle.

Then, Doyoung glances at the boy—his boy. His looks skinner, somehow even _more_ tired than before. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot. His small frame is shaking even more violently. He pushes a pack of Marlboros towards Doyoung and exhales softly.

Doyoung doesn’t have the energy to fight him this time. He scans the cigarettes and hands them back to him, putting the ten in the register and giving the boy his change. Immediately, the boy hands his change to the red-haired boy and wraps an arm around the youngest.

“Get something with protein,” he murmurs to Sungie, and it hits Doyoung that that’s the first time he’s ever heard the boy speak. His voice is kind of high-pitched, but it’s cute. “Like Snickers. You’ll stay full for longer.”

“Jisung,” the red-haired boy says, “why don’t we get Snickers and then share them?”

Sungie—or, apparently, Jisung—nods. He grabs as many Snickers as he can pay for and brings them to the counter.

“Don’t,” Doyoung says when Jisung tries to pay, pushing the money back towards the boy. It’s the least he can do. “It’s on me.”

Jisung looks up at him with wide, glassy eyes. They’re clouded over with—with what must be fear, or stress, or maybe even exhaustion. Doyoung shivers. No one should have eyes that tired, least of all a kid.

“Thank you,” Jisung stutters out. He glances down at Doyoung’s name tag. “Doyoung. Thanks, Doyoung.”

Doyoung smiles at him, and then the red-haired boy ushers him out alongside the boy in the gray hoodie. Before he leaves, though, the boy pulls up his hood and grins at Doyoung.

If his heart flutters a little, he ignores it.

The next time his boy comes in, he’s alone, and Doyoung rings up his cigarettes with a sigh.

“Why buy cigarettes when you could buy food?” Doyoung asks softly, sliding the pack back over the counter and into the boy’s waiting hands.

The boy looks up for a few seconds and meets his eyes. then, he jerks his head away, as if Doyoung’s gaze has burned him. Eyes glued to his feet, he shoves the Marlboros in the pocket of his hoodie and hurries out of the store.

The next time it happens, the boy listens. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Doyoung asks gently. The boy flinches and meets his gaze.

The boy opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s cute.

He opens his mouth one more time and says something. The words barely come out; it’s almost like he has to force them. “I’m just trying to cope,” he says quietly, his voice breaking a little. He takes his cigarettes, and without another word, he leaves. Doyoung, resigned, clocks out and drives home.

The next morning, Taeil finds him asleep in front of his laptop, seven different windows open on how to stop smoking before it’s too late.

“Do you have class today?” Taeil asks, shaking him awake.

Doyoung blinks groggily up at him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stretches. “No, but I have work—”

“Yuta will cover for you until you can come. You’re going to sit down and explain why you’ve been acting so…”

“So?”

“So _weird!”_ Taeil snaps. His scowl would suggest that he’s upset, but Doyoung can see worry in his eyes. “You come home late and don’t even _try_ to make conversation anymore. You didn’t eat dinner last night. You didn’t sleep in a _bed_ last night, Doyoung. Not even your own. And now you have tabs open on smoking?! Just because I’m your roommate doesn’t mean I’m not worried. You’d better not be doing anything stupid.”

Doyoung plants his face in his palm. There’s a short silence before Doyoung takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

“There’s this poor dude who comes in at work, right? Sometimes alone, sometimes with his friends.”

Taeil nods and takes a seat next to him.

“He’s young, about my age, and he always buys everything with exactly ten dollars. Never more, never less. So does one of his friends. He has two of them, I think, but the youngest one can’t pay for anything.”

“...Go on,” Taeil prods.

“He never speaks. and that was fine, you know? I made casual conversation and even got him to smile a couple of times. But recently he’s started buying cigarettes instead of food, and I really want to get him to stop.”

Taeil’s face falls. “Oh, Doyoung, _no.”_

“What? He’s ruining his own life!”

“Doyoungie,” Taeil says quietly. “Why would you care if he bought cigarettes or not unless you cared about him?”

“I don’t like him, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Doyoung says, jaw stiffening. “I just don’t want to see him get sick.”

“Then why did you look so engrossed when you talked about him?” Taeil reasons. Doyoung freezes.

Taeil pats his back, then stands to go into the kitchen. “Go to work, Doyoung,” he says, and Doyoung stands, crossing the room and grabbing his keys a little more forcefully than he needs to.

“I don’t like him,” Doyoung grumbles, shutting the door behind him _way_ too loudly.

Yuta must sense that he’s upset once he clocks in, because he doesn’t say a word. He just leaves.

And then, Doyoung has an idea.

He clears all the Marlboros off the counter and puts them in an inconspicuous box of candy, then drops the box at his feet.

 _‘There,’_ Doyoung thinks, ‘ _now he has no cigarettes.’_

Sure enough, when the boy does come in, he’s rendered cigarette-less _._ Contrary to Doyoung’s belief that he’ll buy food, he just points to the box of Camels under the counter wordlessly and slides his ten dollar bill across the counter.

Well, _that_ worked.

Another idea grabs Doyoung’s attention. He grabs the pack of Camels, but holds them just out of the boy’s reach.

“I’ll  make you a deal,” Doyoung says quietly. The boy doesn’t meet his eyes; he’s just staring at the pack of Camels in Doyoung’s hand. “If you stop buying cigarettes, I’ll let you get anything in the store. I’ll pay.”

A thousand different thoughts run through his head at that moment, but it’s mostly just a chorus of, _‘You’re not going to be able to pay your rent! You’re an idiot! This is coming out of your paycheck!’_

Still, though, it’s so, _so_ rewarding when the boy looks up at him with wide eyes, and it’s especially rewarding when a bright smile blooms across the boy’s face.

Oh, shit. Shit, he has _dimples._

“Really?” he asks, and Doyoung sucks in a breath, smiles back, and nods. The boy practically jumps on Doyoung with a bone-crushing hug that lasts a few seconds before he pulls away. _“Thank you,”_ he breathes softly. Doyoung barely catches the words.

“Go get something to eat,” Doyoung chides, nudging the boy forward with a smile. “Get something for your friends, too.”

The boy smiles. He seems apprehensive about the whole thing, almost like he thinks Doyoung will go back on his word. He grabs a few Snickers bars—classic—and brings them to the counter.

“You don’t need to pay, I’ve—” Doyoung begins when he sees the boy pull his ten dollar bill out of his pocket. He doesn’t hand the bill to Doyoung. He puts it in the tip jar, smiles warmly at Doyoung, and walks out of the store before Doyoung can even say goodbye.

“Dude, stop staring at the tip jar,” Yuta says a few hours later when he relieves Doyoung’s shift. Doyoung shrugs, a smile spreading across his face.

When he leaves, he gets stuck in traffic. He still feels great. It takes him five minutes to find his keys, but he still feels great. Taeil and his boyfriend are fucking again when he walks into the apartment, and he _still_ feels great.

Okay. Slightly less great.

But he goes to sleep with a dimpled smile on his mind and a soft, melodic voice ringing in his ears, and he feels ecstatic.

“Okay,” Doyoung says the next morning, practically slamming his mug of coffee down on the counter. A very thin layer of hot coffee spills over his hand, but Doyoung just wipes it on his pant leg. Johnny, who had been falling asleep, flinches awake. “Taeil, you were right.”

Taeil beams at him. “Knew it!”

“What were you right about?” Johnny asks groggily.

“I told Doyoung he had a crush on one of his customers and _I was right,”_ Taeil says smugly.

Doyoung mutters something under his breath. In retaliation, Taeil swipes his mug of coffee and drinks half of the mug before Doyoung manages to steal it back.

Doyoung downs the rest of his coffee and gets ready to leave, and on his way out, he swats the back of Taeil’s head. He deserves it.

Later that afternoon, the boy walks in alongside some old woman who’s looking at him in disgust. She probably thinks he’s a junkie.

He grabs a few Snickers bars and brings them to the counter. He lets the woman pay first, probably so she doesn’t see him get free food. After she leaves, he pulls a ten from his pocket and puts it in the tip jar.

“What’s your name?” Doyoung asks.

The boy smiles a tight-lipped smile and shrugs.

“Okay,” Doyoung sighs. “Can you tell me something about you?”

The boy pauses for a moment to think. He finally meets Doyoung eyes with a soft smile. “I like cats. They’re my favorite animals.”

A plan starts to form in the irrational part of Doyoung’s mind, and then the rational part says, _“Shit!”_ and shuts down.

“Hush,” Doyoung says to the tiny bundle in his arms. He unlocks the apartment door and steps inside, then sets the bundle on the floor.

Unfortunately, Taeil is in the kitchen, and he shouts a little when the _bundle_ rubs up against his foot.

“It’s okay! It’s fine, Taeil, it’s just a cat.”

 _“Why is there a cat in my apartment,”_ Taeil seethes, his jaw set.

“...Happy birthday,” Doyoung tries miserably.

“Doyoung, answer the question.”

“He said he liked cats,” Doyoung sighs, picking the cat up and cradling her in his arms. “So I went to the shelter and adopted one. Look at her! Her name is Seolie! Isn’t that adorable?”

The cat struggles for freedom, so Doyoung lets her down. She parades around the kitchen, inspecting everything that’s her height—which isn’t a lot, considering she’s a tiny cat.

“You adopted a cat for the financially-challenged boy you’re crushing on,” Taeil says flatly. He sounds the slightest bit impressed. “I should’ve dated you instead of Johnny. Damn.”

“So you’re fine with it?” Doyoung asks with a nervous smile. “We can keep her?”

Taeil crouches down so that he’s as close to Seolie as possible. The cat rubs up against him and purrs.

“Of course.” Taeil rolls his eyes. “She’s fucking adorable.”

“Oh, my _God,”_ Yuta says, eyes widening when Doyoung walks into the gas station with Seolie in his arms. “Oh, my God, that’s a cat.”

Doyoung stares at him. “Indeed,” he says monotonously, setting Seolie down on the floor.

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly,” Doyoung says, clocking in. Yuta sighs and stands.

“You’re gonna explain,” Yuta says, shaking his fist. It’s not threatening in the slightest. “I’m gonna come back from class, and then you’re gonna explain.”

Doyoung laughs, and then he’s left alone.

When the boy comes in that day, he takes one look at Seolie and freezes.

“Why is there a cat?!” he asks, his tone lilted. He grins.

“This is Seolie,” Doyoung says, and when the boy crouches down to greet the cat with a loud laugh, Doyoung’s heart does a little dance in his chest.

 _‘I’m fucked,’_ Doyoung thinks to himself. ‘ _he’s got me.’_

And he is, really, because the next time the boy comes in, he brings his friends—Jisung and the red-haired boy. He tells them to get what they want.

“This is Jisung,” the boy says, “and this is Taeyong. I figured you should know their names.”

Jisung, hands shaking, drops a few Snickers bars onto the counter. Apparently, the boy has converted him into a loyal Snickers lover.

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, and Doyoung briefly thinks that his name suits him well.

“Thank you,” Jisung rushes out as a last-minute thought.

“It’s really no problem,” Doyoung says with a smile. They soon clear out, leaving only the boy, who reaches across the counter to put his ten dollars in the tip jar.

“You really don’t need to tip me,” Doyoung says, catching the boy’s wrist with his free hand. The boy freezes, then lets the slip of paper fall from his fingers and into the empty jar. He shifts his hand so that it’s flat against Doyoung’s. Then, he slips his fingers between Doyoung’s.

“I wanted to,” he says quietly, squeezing Doyoung’s hand lightly. “Thank you, Doyoung.”

He untangles his fingers from Doyoung hand, and then he ducks his head and leaves the gas station, pulling his hood up as he goes. If he’s trying to cover up his face, it doesn’t work, because Doyoung can see his smile peek out from the cover of his hood.

Doyoung stares down at his hands and closes his fingers into a fist, then releases them. His hand feels warm where it had been held, and it almost feels like there’s something humming under his skin—vibrating, even, to the point where his hand feels a bit numb. With a smile, he tucks his hand into his pocket and sits down, pulling out his phone to text Taeil.

“Fucking kiss him, then,” Taeil groans when Doyoung texts him from his spot on the couch, too lazy to open his mouth and talk.

“But what if it was just a thankful thing?”

“Doyoung,” Taeil breathes, “What straight boy would ever hold someone’s hand as a way of saying thanks?”

“Sicheng,” Doyoung says quietly.

“Sicheng has _literally_ been dating Yuta for, like, three years!” Taeil slams his head down on the counter. “You’re just making up excuses.”

“I’m just worried,” Doyoung says, and Taeil stands, crossing the room and stopping when he hovers directly over Doyoung’s relaxed form. Gently, he grabs Doyoung’s wrist, pulls him up, and drags him into his bedroom. They fall onto the bed, eliciting a soft creak from the mattress and a sigh of contentment from Doyoung. Taeil snakes his arms around Doyoung, and suddenly, everything is okay.

“You know what I think?” Taeil mumbles.

“Hm?”

Taeil laughs a little. “You’re just really, _really_ touch-starved, and you have a whole lot of anxiety, and all of this is way less complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

“Hm,” Doyoung sighs, “maybe.”

His breathing evens out, and then, slowly, his eyelids shut.

“Hey,” the boy says the next time he walks in, darting toward the counter quickly. He sounds breathless, and his hair is messy and tangled. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Yeah?” Doyoung responds, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Dude, go get your food first.”

“That can wait,” the boy says, and then he reaches across the counter to cup Doyoung’s jaw.

“What—” Doyoung turns red, and he can’t help but lean into the touch. “What?!”

“Just... Let me do this. Once. That’s it,” the boy whispers, voice breaking a little as he looks up at Doyoung with sad eyes. “I won’t bother you again after this. I promise.”

And then he’s leaning across the counter and his lips are on Doyoung’s and Doyoung thinks that there is _nothing_ in the world that’s better than the mixture of adrenaline and euphoria that races through his veins. He melts a little, his knees buckling as he tilts his jaw for a better angle.

And so, going against what his mind tells him, he doesn’t question why or how—just kisses the boy like his life depends on it. Like he’s oxygen and Doyoung is drowning in an ocean of his own desire.

And when he pulls away, his hand on the boy’s jaw as he surveys the boy, he simpers a bit and admires the products of his work—even _messier_ hair, slick, swollen lips, and a small smirk that upturns the corners of the boy’s mouth.

He leans in again. He can’t help it, he thinks as he laughs into the kiss. He’s been waiting too long for this to give it up now.

“Taeil, he kissed me,” Doyoung calls from the couch when the lock clicks and the door opens, revealing Taeil carrying a bag full of Taco Bell.

Taeil slams the bag on the counter. “He _what,”_ he says in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

“No!” Doyoung sits up, eyes wide. “I’m serious! He kissed me! What the hell does that mean?”

Taeil freezes and stares at him for a few short moments. “It means he likes you, too, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but what if it was just a heat of the moment thing and he didn’t really mean—”

“Doyoung,” he says, walking over to the couch and flopping down on top of Doyoung. “Shut the hell up.”

“But—”

“No, you’re gonna shut up, you’re gonna eat your Taco Bell, and then you’re gonna go to sleep and stop worrying about this guy who _clearly_ likes you back.” Taeil gets up and grabs Doyoung by the wrist, pulling him up off the couch and towards the counter. He unwraps a taco and shoves it towards Doyoung, forcing him to take a bite. He feels a little better.

Later that night, when Taeil cuddles him to sleep, he can't stop himself from thinking a million thoughts that all converge together. He doesn't want to bother Taeil by waking him up, though, so Doyoung sighs, pulls Taeil closer to him, and shuts his eyes.

Doyoung wakes up ready to go to work and get answers from the boy. Unfortunately, though, he has a 9am class that prohibits him from asking such questions.

“Yuta,” Doyoung speaks into his phone, shouldering his bag as he walks into his classroom. He’s early, and only a few students are even in the classroom at this point. “If that one boy in the gray hoodie comes in, tell him I’m at class and will be back later.”

“...Okay,” Yuta says slowly. “Why?”

“I’ll tell you later. Gotta go. bye, love you.” Doyoung ends the call, then stuffs his phone into his pocket.

“Hey,” he grins, dropping unceremoniously into the seat beside Sicheng. Sicheng acknowledges him with a nod before he returns to texting someone—probably Yuta—on his phone.

He tries to focus on the material that his professor is teaching so that he doesn’t fail, but it’s really, _really_ hard to do that when the only thing on his mind is the boy. _His_ boy.

Later that evening, when Yuta is long gone and Doyoung is falling asleep at the counter, the doors slide open, and inside strides the boy, a soft smile spreading across his face when he sees Doyoung.

“Hey,” he says softly, the smile not leaving his face. “You tired?” he says, getting a few Snickers bars and dropping them on the counter, then slipping the ten dollar bill into the tip jar.

Doyoung nods before realizing that the atmosphere between them seems different. It’s… Relaxed. Less tense. The boy seems less jagged and on-edge, and Doyoung thinks he likes this boy much more than the one who never talked.

“Can we talk?” the boy asks, propping his elbows on the counter. “About…”

“Yeah, of course—” Doyoung nods, beckoning the boy back behind the counter to sit on a seat. He gladly obliges.

“So, uh, it’s already really obvious because of—” the boy ducks his head to hide the dark rose blush that spreads across the apples of his cheeks. He runs a hand through his hair. “—Yeah. But I really like you.”

Doyoung reaches across the space between them and intertwines his hand with the boy’s. His mind is racing, thoughts running through it like a bullet train, so fast that he can’t keep up with just one before it sleeps away.

Impulsively, he asks, “Will you be my boyfriend, then?”

It’s a bad idea. It’s a horrible idea, and he _knows_ it, but if it means he'll see the boy more—if it means he'll _kiss_ the boy more—he's willing.

The boy pauses for a moment to think. He looks a bit skeptical, but then he looks Doyoung in the eyes and nods slowly. Doyoung thinks he must have seen something in his eyes.

 _Love,_ the stupid part of him says. He tells it to shut up.

The boy squeezes his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts before he leans in and kisses him soft and slow and Doyoung doesn’t have time to think anymore, he just has time to _act_ as he moves into the boy’s touch, and he’s _soft_ and _warm_ and—

He decides _yes,_ he likes this boy _much_ more than the one who barely talked to him.

“You don’t even know his name.”

“Shut _up_ , Taeil,” Doyoung grumbles.

Johnny sits up straight and grins. “He knows his mouth— _ow,_ Doyoung!”

Taeil pulls Johnny away from Doyoung and repositions him so that he’s lying in the corner of the couch with both legs extended. He then climbs onto Johnny’s lap, wraps the younger’s arms around him, and continues speaking to Doyoung. It’s disgustingly domestic.

“Doyoung, you can’t date this boy. You don’t know anything about him!” Taeil waves his hands, and Doyoung can’t help but think that taeil is the biggest drama queen that he’s ever met. “He could be a murderer!”

“He likes cats. He has dimples. and the cutest smile. and he’s so fucking _hot,_ Taeil! What do you expect me to do?!”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you can get his name, I’ll be fine with you dating him,” Taeil sighs, frowning. “But if you don’t know his name by now, there’s clearly some issue with his name that makes him not want to give it out.”

Doyoung shuts his eyes. “Deal,” he says, his frown dissolving. “I’ll get his name. And then I’m gonna date the fuck out of him.”

Johnny laughs a bit, and Doyoung curls in on himself, shutting his eyes so tight that his head hurts. The ache turns into a dull throb, and by the time it goes away, Doyoung is fast asleep.

“What’s your name?” Doyoung asks the next time the boy visits. He just shakes his head.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Doyoung asks, pulling the boy behind the counter so that he can kiss him. He does exactly that, leaning in for a short kiss before the boy pulls away.

“I just—” he kisses him again. “—Can’t.”

“Okay,” Doyoung sighs. The words come out mumbled on the boy’s lips. “Okay.”

Now, he has a mission.

The boy doesn’t come in the next day. He sends Jisung in his place. He brings a few Snickers bars to the counter and pulls a ten from his pocket to hand to Doyoung.

“It’s fine, just take them,” Doyoung says, pushing the candy back towards Jisung.

“Are you sure? Because I know he’s not here, and—”

“Really, Jisung, it’s fine,” Doyoung says.

Jisung shoves the candy bars into the pocket of his hoodie. A huge smile spreads across his face, and Doyoung nearly faints when Jisung’s eyes crinkle up.

“Thanks,” Jisung says, simpering. “Uh, sorry I got two extra… My boyfriend hasn’t eaten in a few days and I just found out.”

“No big deal—” Doyoung props himself up on his elbows and drums his fingers on his chin. “—What’s his name? And how’s the boy doing?”

“Jaemin. Who’s the boy?”

“The one who comes in all the time. You know, with the gray hoodie?”

“Yeah, him.” Jisung nods. “He’s out working.”

“What does he do?”

Jisung’s smile falls. He stands awkwardly for a few seconds, staring at the empty tip jar on the counter. He wads up the ten dollar bill in his hands and stuffs it into the tip jar, then recoils as if he’s done something awful. He offers doyoung a nod and a fake smile—one that’s nervous, one that’s forced—before darting out the sliding door as fast as it can open. A boy, who apparently had been outside during the exchange, takes Jisung into his arms and walks forward, pulling the frail boy’s hood over his head as they walk away.

 _‘Huh,’_ Doyoung thinks. ‘ _That was fucking weird.’_

The next day, Doyoung hurries into the gas station after class, plopping down into the register seat and kicking Yuta out. The older hardly complains, citing the fact that he has a date with his boyfriend.

Doyoung waits until around nine in the evening for the boy to visit. When he walks in, Doyoung is reading a tabloid about some idol being in a relationship with a golfer. Doyoung closes the magazine and sets it on the counter, and he can’t help but glance at the cover every once and a while. It’s quite the attention-grabber, with the heading, _“YOON MINHYUN AND KIM YOONOH ARE HAVING AN AFFAIR?!?”_ bolded in hot pink text in the middle of the page.

“Hey,” Doyoung grins, beckoning him forward. “Come here.”

The boy approaches the counter without even grabbing food for himself, then leans across the barrier between them, kissing Doyoung _hard_ with his hand gripping his jaw firmly.

“Mmph,” Doyoung says concisely, trying to speak in-between the attack of fervent kisses. “My roommate—” he takes a breath, gets another kiss, and leans forward as far as he can. “—says I’m stupid for not knowing my own boyfriend’s name.”

He pulls away from the kiss, and the boy’s nails rake his jawline a bit, causing him to wince. “Therefore I feel the need to ask you for your name again.”

The boy dives back in for another kiss. “At least your friends don’t think you’re screwing the cashier for free food,” he pants.

“Is that what they think?” Doyoung asks, fighting off a grin. He pulls the boy around the barrier and turns him so that his back faces the counter. Then, he lifts the boy by the waist and seats him on top of the counter. He kisses him again, this time with a motive behind it. He’s going to get that name out of the boy.

The boy pushes everything on the counter to his side so that he has more room. This includes the tabloid, which he glances at before tossing aside. He doesn’t have much time to do anything else before Doyoung is latching his mouth onto the exposed part of the boy’s neck and grazing the skin with his teeth. At this, he earns a choked groan

 _“Fuck,”_ he says softly when Doyoung begins to suck on his neck. “Shit, more of that.”

“Tell me your name,” Doyoung murmurs into his skin before pulling away. He licks his lips, then goes back to what he was doing.

“I can’t,” the boy whines.

“Tell me,” Doyoung says firmly. He trails kisses to the other side of the boy’s neck and pulls his hoodie down to reveal his collarbone, then begins to mouth there as well. The boy tenses.

“Yoonoh!” he gasps suddenly, much too loud for an empty gas station at half past nine. “My name is Jung Yoonoh— _fuck,_ Doyoung—” and then he lets out a whine, because Doyoung is pulling away, smiling like an idiot.

“That’s the prettiest name I’ve ever heard,” he says, and it _is._ It feels different on Yoonoh than it does on anyone else. It feels right. Doyoung surges up to kiss Yoonoh once more. He still can’t stop smiling.

Yoonoh laughs, and Doyoung thinks it’s the prettiest song he’s ever heard. Yoonoh smiles, and Doyoung thinks it’s the prettiest smile he’s ever seen.

And later, as he’s falling asleep, his mind racing, all he can think is _Yoonoh, Yoonoh, Yoonoh._

“His name is Yoonoh, by the way,” Doyoung says to Taeil as he walks past, probably to bring Johnny breakfast in bed.

Taeil jerks to a halt, causing the glass of orange juice on the tray he’s carrying to slide forward and vault over the edge, bouncing onto the floor and rolling around. Surprisingly, it doesn’t break.  

“Shit,” Taeil nearly shouts, and Doyoung doesn’t think it’s because he dropped his orange juice. “Are you kidding me?”

“No!” Doyoung says, grinning. He grabs a roll of paper towels and cleans up Taeil’s mess. “His name is Jung Yoonoh. Taeil, he’s so amazing. you have _no_ idea.”

“How’d you coax his name out of him?” Taeil asks, grabbing the fallen glass and putting it in the sink. Doyoung’s smile widens, but he doesn’t say anything. Taeil turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. It dawns on him about a second too late. _“No._ Oh, you freak. You’re disgusting.”

Doyoung sings, “But now you have to approve of him,” and Taeil sighs. Doyoung’s heart does a little happy dance that it hasn’t done since he and Yoonoh last kissed.

“Hey,” Yoonoh says, walking inside the store. He’s panting as he walks forward, leans across the counter, and pulls Doyoung by the collar into a hungry kiss.

Doyoung laughs, pulling away. “What was that for?”

“I’m gonna do something stupid and reckless and impulsive,” Yoonoh grins at him, surging forward for another kiss. Doyoung holds himself just out of his reach. “And also, I really like kissing you.”

“Tell me what the impulsive thing is,” Doyoung says as he leans in again. It occurs to him that he should probably turn off the security cameras, but honestly, he couldn’t care less anymore. He doubts anyone even checks the cameras, anyways.

Rose lips part for a moment, and Yoonoh’s eyes travel down to the floor guiltily before wandering back up to meet Doyoung’s stare. “You would call me stupid and reckless and impulsive.”

“Not really,” Doyoung says, beckoning Yoonoh behind the counter. “You’d  be surprised at how much I let get by me.”

Yoonoh hums, a smile curling at corners of his mouth, and then he sits in Doyoung’s lap, wraps his arms around Doyoung’s neck, and leans forward for a slow, languid kiss.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Doyoung asks quietly, pulling away.

"Of course," Yoonoh pants, chasing Doyoung. He barely has time to catch a breath before he's tangling a hand in Yoonoh’s hair and wrapping his arm around him again.

They don’t talk anymore.

The next morning, Doyoung wakes with a smile on his face. He’s buzzing with excitement when he leaves his apartment. He walks out of class with a bounce in his step, and, rather impulsively, lets his feet lead him to a local florist, at which he bargains for a bouquet of a dozen red roses. He carries them back to the gas station, ignores Yuta’s hounding, and waits for Yoonoh to stop by.

A young girl and her mother come in. Sicheng comes in, if only to find out where Yuta is. hell, even _Mrs. Hwang_ comes in, blabbering on the phone with one of her old bat friends about the latest scandal in town. But Yoonoh doesn’t approach the store, and Doyoung finds himself a little disappointed. Maybe even sad.

After he’s done locking up, he leaves the roses outside the door and drives home with a frown etched into his face that even Taeil and his antics can’t make disappear.

Yoonoh doesn’t come the next day. He doesn’t come the day after that _or_ the day after that. Doyoung thinks, _‘It’s fine, he’ll be back soon. He’s done this before.’_

But one week into Yoonoh’s disappearance, Doyoung finds his optimism wearing thin, and he’s forced to let Taeil hold him at night again because he can’t stand having the touch that he had craved—and obtained—ripped away from him so soon.

When Jisung walks into the gas station in a provocative outfit that _can’t_ be his, a tall boy with brown hair clinging to his arm, Doyoung chokes down his pride and asks, “Where’s Yoonoh?”

Jisung cocks his head, and with a shaky hand, he slides two Snickers bars across the counter and pays with a five. “Yoonoh?

“The boy.”

A smile spreads across his face. “He finally chose a name, huh?”

Doyoung’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean—” he cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… Have you seen him?”

Jisung shakes his head.

“Well, can you tell me where he lives so I can check on him?”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “He didn’t tell you?”

“What?”

“He’s—Yoonoh. Yoonoh is homeless.”

Doyoung’s mouth falls open a little bit, and he slides the candy back across the counter along with the five dollar bill. He closes his mouth and frowns.

There has to be something bigger at play here.

The words come out of his mouth faster than his mind can comprehend them. “We’re gonna go get coffee, and you’re gonna tell me what you know.”

“I’ve never had coffee,” Jisung says. “I don’t think I should, uh—”

 _“Please,”_ Doyoung says, eyes widening. “You can get whatever you want. Bring your friend, too. I just need to find Yoonoh, and I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

Jisung sighs. Looked the boy at his side in the eyes and has a nonverbal conversation with him. Purses his lips, hangs his head, then glances back up at doyoung with glassy eyes. “Okay,” he sighs, tugging his arm for the boy to follow him. “Let’s go.”

Once the three are served their drinks, they find two chairs nestled in the corner of the quiet coffee shop and settle down. Jisung sits in his friend’s lap, and they share a hot chocolate together, neither drinking much just to leave more for the other. Doyoung sits in a chair by himself, sipping a black coffee contently as he waits for Jisung to start talking.

“By the way, this is Jaemin,” Jisung says, gesturing to the boy on whose lap he sits. Jaemin smiles a bit, waving with his free hand.

Doyoung nods. “Your boyfriend.”

Jisung smiles, head turning to look Jaemin in the eye. They share what _has_ to be an adoring glance. _Shit,_ they’re adorable. Doyoung finds a part of himself wanting with Yoonoh what they have.

He shakes his head. _Yoonoh._ that’s why he’s here.

“Can you tell me everything you know about Yoonoh?” Doyoung implores quietly.

The grin on Jisung’s face drops immediately, as does Jaemin’s. Jaemin rests a hand on Jisung’s knee. With a sigh, he pushes away the hot chocolate that Jaemin is offering him and begins to speak. “All i know is that Yoonoh’s mom kicked him out. He joined our little homeless crew… It’s me, him, Jaemin, Taeyong, and a few others. Do you remember that soup kitchen that closed? That was where everyone got their food, and usually, the people volunteering would give us spare change, so it was a pretty good setup. Uh, when it closed, though, we had to start—” his voice breaks. Jaemin pulls him closer. “We had to find work.”

Doyoung grimaces. He’s not stupid. He knows what _work_ means.

“Some of us adapted better than others,” Jaemin says. His voice sounds fragile. It breaks a bit, but not nearly as much as Jisung’s when he speaks.

“Yoonoh told us he was going to go to this shelter that he goes to that provides kids like… _Us_ — _”_ he gestures at himself and Jaemin, then continues speaking. “—with clothes and medical stuff. They’d been shorting him on his medicine, and he was going to go and get his prescription refilled and make that the last time he went there. I told him not to, because they… They mistreat us, but he wouldn’t listen. He left. And now I don’t know _where_ he is, or if he even made it to the shelter.”

“So Yoonoh went to a homeless shelter to get medicine?”

“Not a homeless shelter,” Jaemin cuts in. “It’s for kids like _us."_

“Homeless,” Doyoung deadpans. Jisung shakes his head adamantly.

He takes a sip of the hot chocolate. “Gay. And transgender.”

Doyoung frowns. “They mistreat him for being gay and he’s _still_ going to them?”

“It’s more complicated,” Jisung speaks with his voice barely above a whisper. “But he’d kill me if I told you. I’m sorry.”

“Please, I just want to find him safe. I want to bring him home and make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s nothing you need to know right now,” Jaemin says, closing his eyes and sighing for a few quiet seconds before opening them again. Doyoung notices that they’re watery. “Just… Please, bring him back. I’d go get him myself, but i can't remember where the place is, and even if I did...”

His words hang in the air. Doyoung can guess what they imply.

Doyoung sighs. He nods and stands, then pulls what little money he has in his pocket—a few crumpled tens, compliments of Yoonoh—and presses them into Jaemin’s free palm. “Thanks. Take care of yourselves. and don’t… Don’t work. Just come to the gas station. I’ll buy you whatever you need. If you ever need _anything,_ come to the gas station and I’ll help you out.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind working,” Jisung responds. His voice is shaking almost as much as him. “Thank you, but it's fine,” he says, and then Jaemin brings a hand up to intertwine it with his own and Jisung breaks, curling in on himself, letting Jaemin pull him close to his chest and soothe him.

Doyoung thinks, _‘This is too intimate, this is too personal. I need to leave.’_ He does exactly that, offering Jaemin a tight-lipped smile as he mouths the words, “Thank you,” and darts out of the coffee shop.

He considers going out and looking for Yoonoh. With his better judgement, he decides against it. It’s too dark outside; he’ll have to look in the morning.

“Did you figure out where he went?” Johnny asks when Doyoung walks inside and tosses his keys on the counter. He’s been home alone while Taeil is at the library studying.

Doyoung frowns, crossing the room and lying down on the couch next to Johnny. “Yeah. I’m gonna go look for him tomorrow.”

“Text Taeil about it,” Johnny tells him, and Doyoung nods. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Taeil.

_Hey, if you see a homeless guy or a dude who looks really, really poor, call me. I’m looking for Yoonoh. I know that’s really unspecific, but I don’t know what he’s wearing._

His phone notifies him that Taeil has read his message. He gets an _okay_ as a response, and he figures his work for the day is done.

“C’mere,” Johnny says, gesturing towards himself. His arms are wide open, and Doyoung doesn’t hesitate to climb on top of his chest and settle there.

Johnny’s arms fold over him, and a hand pulls a blanket up over both of them, making him even _warmer,_ and then Doyoung’s eyes are shutting and everything feels like it’s going to be all right, even if it’s just for a few hours.

Hours later, he’s awoken by the relentless buzzing of his phone. Groggily, he pulls it from his pocket, answers the call, and brings the phone to his ear. Johnny’s grip on him tightens.

“Hello?” he asks, his voice deep and hoarse from sleep.

“Doyoung?” a voice says, small and hesitant, and _shit,_ he knows that voice.

“Yoonoh,” he breathes into the receiver. “Where are you? Are you okay? Do you need me to come get you? Are—”

“Taeil found me.” Yoonoh’s voice is shaking. He sounds like Jisung. “He’s going to bring me home.”

 _Home._ Doyoung doesn't miss it, and he's sure Yoonoh doesn't, either.

“Where are you?”

There’s a rustling noise, and suddenly, Taeil’s voice cuts off whatever Yoonoh had started to say. “Ten minutes away. We stopped at the gas station to try and find you, but Yuta told us you clocked out.”

“Hurry,” Doyoung says, ending the call. He removes himself from Johnny to his best ability, trying to avoid waking him. It doesn’t work.

Johnny stretches, groaning a little when he opens his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Taeil found Yoonoh,” Doyoung says, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. It blossoms into a huge grin, and he laughs a little, feeling euphoric. “He’s bringing Yoonoh here.”

Johnny grins at him and lets out a little shout to celebrate. He stands and takes a few steps forward, enveloping Doyoung in a bear hug.

They stay like that, hugging in the middle of the living room, until the front door’s lock clicks and the door creaks open.

“He’s here,” Taeil whispers to someone behind him. Doyoung thinks he’s going to cry. “He might be in his room, but—”

“Go,” Johnny murmurs to him, pushing him forward. Doyoung doesn’t hesitate. He sprints across the room and through the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Yoonoh and burying his face in his chest.

Yoonoh recognizes him fairly quickly and lifts his arms, resting them comfortably on Doyoung’s shoulders. “I can explain.”

“Jisung told me everything,” Doyoung whispers. He doesn’t even know if it’s audible. “You scared me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I missed you,” Doyoung says, trying to hold back tears.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Doyoung pulls away, smiling so wide that it hurts. He wipes his eyes. In amusement, softly, he asks, “Is that the only thing you’re able to say?”

Yoonoh throws his head back and laughs. When he quiets down, he glances around—probably to make sure Taeil and Johnny aren’t watching, for which Doyoung doesn’t blame him, considering Taeil’s usual nosiness—then gives Doyoung the most adoring look that he’s ever seen. Then, he leans in, hand cupping Doyoung’s jaw, for a feather-light kiss on the cheek.

“Come on,” Doyoung laughs when Yoonoh pulls away. He grabs his wrist and leads him to his room. It’s a mix of messy and clean; the bed is made, and there’s nothing _too_ outrageously messy, but boxes of miscellaneous possessions line the wall and cover a good thirty percent of the room. “Sorry about all the junk in here. I kind of moved into taeil’s room.”

Yoonoh stands in the doorway, marveling at the corkboard mounted on the wall. It has dozens of pictures pinned to it featuring Doyoung with friends and family. Mostly, it’s just him, Taeil, Johnny, Sicheng, and Yuta, but it has a few photos of his brother and his parents, too.

A soft rustling noise comes from the corner. Doyoung glances at it briefly before realizing what’s there, and when he does, his face lights up. “Hey, Seolie,” he sings. “Come here! Say hi to Yoonoh.”

Yoonoh shuts the door behind him, and Doyoung walks to his desk to flip a lightswitch. The room is suddenly illuminated by tiny string lights lining the walls. He can see Yoonoh better now.

Seolie races past Doyoung and makes a mad dash for Yoonoh, sprinting up to him and jumping in his arms. She nuzzles herself against his chest. Yoonoh carries her over to the bed and sits down, and Doyoung sits beside him. “Hi, Seolie,” he coos at the kitten in his arms.

Doyoung laughs, turns, and gets his first real look at Yoonoh. His breath catches in his throat.

“Oh, my God,” he whispers. “What did they do to you?”

Yoonoh flinches when Doyoung brings his hand up to grab his chin. Seolie leaps out of his lap and makes her way around the two so that she can stretch out on the bed.

“Nothing special,” Yoonohfrowns. He tries to pass it off as a joke, but his voice cracks a little.

Doyoung pulls him into a hug. He jerks away.

“Can you… Not touch me there?” Yoonoh asks quietly.

“Where?”

“My chest,” he whispers.

“Why? Did they hurt you? Are your ribs okay? Do we need to go to the—”

 _“They took my binder,”_ Yoonoh hisses, his voice low. “And I don’t have a replacement.”

“Your...?” Doyoung trails off, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“My binder. That goes on my chest. For my boobs. Because I’m transgender,” Yoonoh deadpans. Doyoung stares back with a blank face,  and Yoonoh sighs. “I thought Jisung told you!”

“I guess that was the part he left out,” Doyoung says, shrugging.

“Wait, so you’re just—” Yoonoh waves his hands around wildly, eyes wide. “You’re fine with it?”

“I’m fine with it. I’m _not_ fine with those bruises.”

It’s true. Doyoung can’t stand the sight of yoonoh; an angry violet bruise blooms across his jaw, and his lip is split. A dried trail of blood is smeared across the side of his face. His nose is red and swollen.

He doesn’t even want to know what happened below the neck.

“Shit, uh…” Doyoung chews his lip, racking his brain for any medical supplies that he and taeil own. The most they have is toilet paper. “I don’t have anything for the bruising or the swelling. I think we have ibuprofen, but…”

“Ibuprofen is fine,” Yoonoh nods, swallowing. Doyoung tries not to stare at the bobbing of his adam’s apple.

Doyoung nods, leaning forward and planting a kiss on Yoonoh’s forehead before standing and walking out of the room, closing the door quickly to make sure Seolie doesn’t slip out. He comes back with some ibuprofen and a glass of water and dutifully puts them in Yoonoh’s hands.

“Thanks,” Yoonoh says, cupping his hand over his mouth, taking the pills, and swallowing him them dry.

“I’ll take you to the hospital tomorrow,” Doyoung says, moving Yoonoh’s hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry they did this to you.”

“Doyoung,” Yoonoh laughs, falling backwards onto the bed, “I broke into a shelter for gay youth and stole a whole lot of testosterone shots. I’m pretty sure I deserved it.”

Doyoung lies down next to Yoonoh, turning onto his side so that he can stare at him. “You could sue them. It counts as a hate crime. Kind of. I have a lawyer you could—”

“Oh, my God, Doyoung,” Yoonoh laughs, hugging his stomach. “I literally have fifty dollars to my name.”

“I could—”

 _“No,”_ Yoonoh grins at him, his smile so bright and wide that his eyes crinkle up. Doyoung thinks he’s going to cry. Again.. “You’ve done enough for me already. Just giving me a place to sleep for the night until I can get back to camp… You’re amazing.”

Yoonoh leans in and kisses him. Doyoung can smell blood, and Yoonoh tastes metallic, but he doesn’t complain. When Yoonoh pulls away, though, his brain clouds with pure, unfiltered joy, and he speaks on impulse. “Do you want to stay?”

Yoonoh furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not safe for you out there. I can get you a job, and you can live here. I’m sure Taeil and Johnny wouldn’t mind.”

Yoonoh seriously considers it for a moment, but then he shakes his head, and Doyoung feels his heart drop a little. “I have to stay with Jisung and Jaemin. I need to know they're okay."

“...They could stay, too,” Doyoung says quietly.

Yoonoh bursts into laughter. He rests a hand on Doyoung’s chin, thumb running along his jawline gently like he’s not gasping for breath in front of Doyoung. once his laughter calms, he says, “You’re really considering this all just for me?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung says, and he feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. “Of course.”

“You’re insane,” Yoonoh says, leaning forward and pulling Doyoung into a hug.

 _‘I’m falling in love,’_ a small part of Doyoung whispers, but he squashes the thought down and instead says, “Do you want some food?”

Yoonoh glances down at Doyoung’s lips. Blinking rapidly, he sits up. “Yes, please,” he says quietly, and Doyoung wastes no time standing, pulling Yoonoh gently by the wrist out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“All we have is pizza in the fridge,” Doyoung says apologetically. “Is that okay?”

Yoonoh nods, seating himself in one of the seats by the counter as Doyoung opens the fridge, puts some pizza on a plate, and puts it in the microwave.

Seolie waltzes into the kitchen and flops down on top of Doyoung’s feet. Yoonoh snickers.

Trying his best not to move his feet, Doyoung opens the microwave, grabs the plate of pizza, and strains across the counter to hand the plate to Yoonoh. Unfortunately, Seolie makes a noise indicating her discomfort and promptly relocates herself to Yoonoh’s lap.

Yoonoh scarfs down the pizza. Doyoung didn’t know it was possible to eat that fast. His stomach drops at the thought of Yoonoh being so hungry for so long.

“Thank you,” Yoonoh says, so soft and fragile that doyoung can hardly hear it. For everything.”

 _‘I love him,’_ his mind shouts. “It’s nothing,” he smiles. He walks around the counter, picks Seolie up, and motions for Yoonoh to follow him. “Come on.”

They walk into the empty bedroom, Doyoung closing the door behind him as Yoonoh falls onto the bed, exhausted.

“I haven’t slept in a bed since I got kicked out,” Yoonoh says when Doyoung burrows under the covers next to him. Doyoung pulls him close, and he doesn’t hesitate to curl into the embrace.

“Why’d you get kicked out?”

“My mom found my binder,” Yoonoh mumbles into Doyoung’s chest. “She freaked out.”

He doesn’t think it’s possible, but somehow, Doyoung pulls Yoonoh even closer. He’s surprised that Yoonoh can still breathe.

Yoonoh mutters something into Doyoung’s hoodie. “What was that?” Doyoung asks.

He mumbles it again. His voice drags with exhaustion, and Doyoung is barely able to make out the words.

“Love you,” Yoonoh says before his breathing evens out and he begins to snore softly into Doyoung chest.

Doyoung, with a smile spreading across his face, closes his eyes and drifts into the best sleep of his life.

When he wakes, Doyoung realizes that it’s Saturday and grins. That’s an entire day to take Yoonoh to the hospital and convince him to move in.

He slowly crawls out of bed, untangling Yoonoh’s arms from around him. He stares at the boy for a few short moments, taking in how _pretty_ he is. The fairy lights strung around the bedframe cast a soft glow on his sleeping face, framed perfectly by his dark hair. He looks like a god.

Shaking his head, Doyoung emerges from his bedroom to find Taeil and Johnny in the kitchen. Taeil is fixing pancakes.

“What’s this for?”

“Yoonoh,” Taeil says simply. “I went to the grocery and got everything this morning.”

Doyoung nods and takes a seat next to Johnny. “What would you say if I asked—”

“We’re already looking at one-bedroom apartments, don’t worry,” Johnny says into his mug of coffee, waving his hand nonchalantly.

“What?”

“You want Yoonoh to move in,” Taeil says. “We’re fine with that. This was your apartment first. I can live somewhere else. Besides, I've wanted to move in with Johnny for a while."

Doyoung buries his face in his hands. “You’re not supposed to agree so easily,” he groans, “stop being nice.”

“Stop being obvious,” Taeil shoots back, pointing the spatula almost accusingly at him.

Doyoung, defeated, sighs. At that moment, Yoonoh walks into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Seolie’s not far behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, taking a seat on Doyoung’s other side. Johnny waves at him.

“Hi! I’m Taeil’s boyfriend, Johnny.”

Yoonoh waves at him, then glances between Taeil and Johnny. “I’m really sorry to intrude like this.”

“Dude, it’s not a problem,” Johnny shakes his head. “Seriously. I’m just glad Doyoung’s not moping anymore.”

Yoonoh grins at Johnny as a plate of hot pancakes slides under his chin. Taeil serves the rest of them, and before Doyoung even picks up his fork, Yoonoh has already eaten half a pancake. He picks at a few more pancakes, practically inhaling them as everyone else eats silently. When they finish, Doyoung leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

“Taeil, oh, my _God_. That was really good,” he says, earning a laugh from Taeil. “I can’t wait for you to open that restaurant.”

Yoonoh puts down his fork and grins. “Thank you, Taeil.”

“Are you finished eating? C’mon, I can drive you to the hospital,” Doyoung says, rising from his seat. Taeil stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Doyoung, none of us have health insurance.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, and he deflates, turning to Yoonoh. “Go get a shower, and I’ll run out and get some stuff.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” Johnny says, standing and leading Yoonoh into the hallway. They disappear behind the wall—Seolie following them dutifully—and Doyoung turns to Taeil, who’s shaking his head.

“You’re whipped.”

“...Yeah,” he agrees quietly, grabbing his keys from the counter and heading out the door to get Yoonoh various discount medical supplies.

Shit. Shit. _Shitshitfuckfuckfuck,_ he thinks to himself as he approaches the gas station with his keys in hand. Jisung and Jaemin are there sleeping, their backs against the glass windows. Jaemin’s head lolls against Jisung’s shoulder, and as Doyoung gets closer, he notices that Jisung’s face is the faintest shade of pale blue. They’re both shivering.

He all-but-sprints back to his car and turns the heat on the highest setting, then goes inside of the store and peruses the aisles. Yuta stares at him, but says nothing at all when he shoves packs of frozen peas into his hoodie, then an entire box of band-aids, some gauze, and finally, two Snickers bars for good measure. He doesn’t pay. Yuta lets him leave, and he finds himself feeling more love and affection for Nakamoto Yuta than he’s ever felt for him in his life.

He walks out of the store, and with a frown, he notices that Jisung and Jaemin still haven’t woken up. Gently, he shakes Jaemin awake. His eyebrows furrow, and he slowly blinks his eyes open before turning to Jisung, noticing his state, and looking up at Doyoung with an expression that can only translate to _panic._

Jaemin puts his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and shakes him. “Sungie,” he says. “Wake up.”

He doesn’t even flinch.

 _“Jisung,”_ Jaemin says again. Doyoung bites his tongue and leans down, scooping Jisung up in his arms bridal style. He’s cold to the touch. He carries Jisung to his car and puts him inside, pointing the air vents towards him. he motions for Jaemin to get in back seat.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Doyoung assures Jaemin, who climbs into the car and takes off his jacket to drape it around Jisung.

Jaemin reaches around the seat and presses a thumb to Jisung’s pale wrist. “He has a heartbeat,” he whispers, his voice lilting.

Doyoung forgets about the gauze and bandages in the pocket of his hoodie. Hell, he even forgets about the frozen peas, which press into his stomach and send a chill through him every time he moves the wrong way. He ignores it, and instead, he focuses on getting through traffic as fast as he can.

When they finally arrive at Doyoung’s apartment, Jaemin carries Jisung inside, practically sprinting up the stairs despite the weight in his arms.

“Taeil,” Doyoung says, throwing the door open. “Is Yoonoh out of the shower?”

“Yeah, why?” he asks, not glancing up from his phone. When he receives no answer, he glances up, noticing the frost-bitten—and possibly hypothermic—boy in Jaemin’s arms and rushing to the bathroom to turn the shower on.

“Hottest setting!” Doyoung calls out. Someone rises from the couch and hurriedly approaches Jisung. It’s Yoonoh, and he reaches out to cradle Jisung’s head in horror. His hands shake. They’ve never done that before.

“Minnie,” says Yoonoh softly. “When did he get like this?”

Jaemin ignores his question. _“He found you,”_ he breathes in wonder. A small smile plays on his chapped lips.

Yoonoh nods and runs a thumb over Jisung’s jaw. His face is pink now, with the faintest trace of blue lining his lips and nose.

“Come on!” Taeil shouts from inside the hallway.

“Go, you can go in with him. You’re cold, too,” Doyoung says to Jaemin, who glances at him, nods, and carries Jisung into the bathroom.

“Doyoung, call Sicheng!” Taeil shouts.

“What good could _Sicheng_ do?!” Doyoung asks.

“Doyoung, he’s in pre-med!”

Doyoung pulls out his phone and presses Sicheng’s contact. As the phone rings, he shouts, “Johnny could do better!”

“Johnny’s studying _vet science!”_ Taeil shouts back, retreating into the kitchen with his arms crossed. “I need to find a thermometer.”

“We don’t _own_ a thermometer,” Johnny says, walking into the kitchen with a frown. “I told you to buy one, and you said you’d rather die a hero than live long enough to become a villain.”

Doyoung phone stops ringing. He decides that if Yuta decides to grow a pair and propose, he definitely won’t be attending Sicheng’s wedding.

“I have a meat thermometer,” Taeil says. “And that reasoning was justified.”

 _“How,”_ Johnny says, exasperated.

“Don’t question my methods, Youngho,” Taeil says, grabbing the aforementioned meat thermometer from a drawer of kitchen utensils and disappearing down the hall with it.

His phone buzzes. It’s Sicheng. Apparently, Doyoung will be attending his wedding after all.

“Hey,” Doyoung says into the receiver. “How fast can you drive over?”

“I’m already on my way,” Sicheng responds. And engine on the other line revs, and cars honk in the background.

“What?!”

“Doyoung, you’ve never called me in the _entire_ duration of our friendship. Once, you texted me at four in the morning about how you could translate my little brother’s surname to _yellow_ and mispronounce his name so badly that you could call him _yellow linguini_ , but that was a year and a half ago, and you haven’t texted me since. Obviously, if it’s important enough for you to call me, something’s wrong.”

Doyoung stands there for a few minutes, silent. “...Oh,” he decides finally. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few, then. Tell Renjun I’m still sorry about that.”

Sure enough, in under ten minutes, Sicheng is barging inside the apartment with a fire in his eyes. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong, but he already looks _so_ willing to help. Doyoung melts a little.

“Okay, so, these kids fell asleep outside the gas station. One of them turned blue. They’re in the shower right now trying to get warmed up, but I don’t know if the blue one is going to be okay.”

At that moment, the bathroom door creaks open, and into the kitchen creeps Jaemin, holding an unconscious Jisung in his arms. Taeil rushes forward with the meat thermometer and puts it in Jisung’s mouth.

Taeil reads the meat thermometer. “His  temperature is going up. The shower helped.”

“Here,” Sicheng says, beckoning Jaemin forward. He takes the small boy from his arms and places him on the couch, kneeling down next to him. He pulls a thick blanket onto him.

Finally, Sicheng sighs and rests his hand on Jisung’s forehead. “He should be sweating. His forehead is burning up.”

Sicheng pulls Jisung’s dripping hair back out of the way. He wipes his hand on the blanket and continues his work. “How long has he been outside in the cold?”

“I don’t know,” Jaemin says helplessly. “A long time. I found him passed out outside of the gas station.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“We went to get coffee with Doyoung and, uh…” Jaemin trails off to think. “We went back to our little camp. Jisung told me he was going to to work and that he’d meet me back here in the morning. when he didn’t come back, I went out to look for him. My guess is that something _bad_ happened, and when he could get away, he went to the gas station to get doyoung but collapsed before he could get inside. I found him a couple hundred feet from the door. No one was inside, so I waited for Doyoung.”

“Yuta was inside,” Doyoung says weakly, and Sicheng purses his lips. “He would’ve helped you.”

Jaemin stays quiet. Taeil hands him a towel to dry his hair.

“Can I check for signs of…” Sicheng trails off, looking to Jaemin for permission.

Jaemin stiffens. “I can do it,” he grimaces. He turns apologetically to Taeil and says, “Is there anywhere I can…?”

“Use my room, I don’t mind,” Doyoung says. Jaemin nods. Sicheng picks Jisung up and carries him to Doyoung’s room, Jaemin trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

The door shuts behind Jaemin, and Sicheng walks back into the kitchen with a frown. “What the _hell,_ Doyoung,” he says quietly. “Who are these kids?"

“Long story,” Doyoung says. “Will Jisung be okay?”

“I can’t speak on how he’ll be _mentally,”_ Sicheng says softly, pursing his lips, “But physically, he should be fine. He’s only unconscious, not comatose. He should wake up soon, if not within the next few minutes, especially after you warmed him up.”

Doyoung nods, and Yoonoh leans into his side a bit more. He wraps an arm around the boy.

Within a few minutes, Jaemin is walking into the kitchen, but instead of carrying Jisung, he’s helping the boy stumble forward on his feet with tired, red-rimmed eyes.

“Hey,” Jaemin says to Jisung. “these guys helped us.”

Everyone waves to Jisung, but JIsung isn’t even sparing them a glance. He stares straight at Yoonoh before shrugging Jaemin’s arms from his frame and running—no, limping—straight into Yoonoh’s arms.

“You’re an idiot,” Jisung complains, his voice muffled by Yoonoh’s hoodie.

Yoonoh laughs. _“You’re_ an idiot.”

Yoonoh hooks his arm around Jisung’s and leads him back into Doyoung’s room. Taeil nudges Doyoung, nods at Jaemin, and then motions for Johnny and Sicheng to follow him, darting quickly into his own room.

Doyoung sighs. “So. You’re homeless.”

Jaemin cracks a grin. “Low blow.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen. He waves his arms in front of him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says lamely. Jaemin laughs at him. “I meant, uh… Taeil and Johnny are going to move out so Yoonoh and I can move in. But Yoonoh won’t move in unless you and Jisung have somewhere safe to stay.”

Jaemin purses his lips. “Yeah?” he prods hesitantly.

Doyoung chews on his bottom lip and leans back against the kitchen counter. “So, I was wondering if you and Jisung would move in with us? I could find you guys jobs and you could go to school, and...”

He trails off when he sees the look in Jaemin’s eyes. They’re wide and welling up with tears _fast,_ and a smile spreads across his face. “You mean it? You’re not kidding?”

Doyoung shakes his head. Jaemin bounds forward, wraps his arms around Doyoung’s waist, and buries his face in Doyoung’s chest. “Oh, my god, thank you. Thank you _so much._ ”

 _“God,”_ Jaemin grins, pulling away. “We can go back to school. Oh, my god, I can actually hold a job. Doyoung, this is the best thing to ever happen to me,” Jaemin says, wiping his eyes. Tear tracks run down his cheeks.

Jaemin goes in for another hug. Doyoung accepts, eyes alight with mirth and heart full. When Yoonoh and Jisung return from Doyoung’s room, Jisung wiping his eyes and sniffling, Jaemin says, “Jisung, we’re moving in with Doyoung and Yoonoh,” and Yoonoh, smile so broad that his dimples show, crosses the room and wraps Doyoung in an embrace.

“You did good,” Yoonoh murmurs. Doyoung nods, guides Yoonoh’s arms around his waist, and turns his head to kiss Yoonoh gently. They pull away after a few seconds, and Doyoung glances at Jaemin to see him hugging Jisung as tight as he can. The poor boy looks like he can barely breathe, but he’s _happy,_ and that’s all that really matters.

When Jisung pulls away from the hug he’s been forced into, his smile drops. A deep frown settles into where it once was, and he furrows his eyebrows. “...What about Taeyong?”

Yoonoh sucks in a breath. “I didn’t think about that.”

Jaemin nods, setting his jaw, his lips curled into a grimace. “I don’t want to let Taeyong stay out on the streets while we sleep indoors. I _can’t.”_

“Taeyong can stay here,” Doyoung says quickly. “We only have two bedrooms, but he can sleep on the couch, I guess. I could let Johnny and Taeil take this couch and then buy a pull-out one.”

“You have to stop being so generous,” Yoonoh whispers in his ear, but Doyoung shakes his head.

“Let’s go get Taeyong,” Doyoung says, and right now he’s as sure of this as he’ll ever be of anything else: he _can’t_ let Yoonoh and his circle live out on the streets.

“Doyoung—” Yoonoh grins and buries his face in his hands. “You can’t… You can’t—”

 _“Come on,”_ Doyoung insists, grabbing Yoonoh’s wrist and beckoning Jaemin and Jisung towards him.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Yoonoh laughs when Doyoung pulls out of the parking lot.

“Show me where he’ll be,” is all Doyoung says. His brain says, ‘ _You’re an idiot,’_ but his heart knows that this is _right,_ and that’s all he needs to put his car in drive and listen to the directions Yoonoh gives him.

And later, when Taeyong is squeezed between Jaemin and Jisung in the backseat, happily sharing a bucket of fried chicken with the two, Doyoung answers a call from Taeil with a huge grin on his face.

“Where are you?”

“Driving home with Taeyong,” he answers.

“Oh, my _God,_ you’re insane,” Taeil groans into the receiver.

Doyoung glances at Yoonoh and smiles. “I’m _happy_ ,” he says, and when Taeil sighs and hangs up, he bursts into laughter and presses down on the gas pedal.

Months later, Doyoung wakes with Yoonoh’s arms around his waist. The warm glow from the string lights illuminate the white sheets in front of him. He wriggles free from Yoonoh’s embrace so that he sits up with his back against the headboard. Yoonoh huffs out a noise of disapproval and shifts so that his head rests in Doyoung’s lap. He coos a little.

Doyoung glances over to the corkboard on the wall. In addition to the photos of his friends and family, there are now polaroids littered across it. They feature Doyoung and Yoonoh, Taeyong—who’s now very close with Yuta and Sicheng—by himself, _Yoonoh_ by himself, and Jaemin and Jisung. He couldn’t be more satisfied with the collection of sentimental pictures he has.

With a smile, Doyoung turns his attention to the boy in his lap. Yoonoh’s hair is messy, and his mouth hangs open a little, his teeth showing through the gap in his lips. His tongue rests between his teeth. Doyoung thinks it’s adorable.

“I love you,” he murmurs down to the sleeping boy in his lap.

And then Yoonoh’s eyes are fluttering open, and he’s turning his head to look up at Doyoung with wide eyes.

“What?” Yoonoh asks, voice faint despite the panic evident on his face.

Doyoung’s smile doesn’t drop. “I love you,” he repeats, fonder this time.

Yoonoh laughs, then surges upward to kiss Doyoung softly, his arms circled around his neck. He laughs into the kiss, short and sweet before he tilts his head, tangling his hands in Doyoung’s hair and pulling himself impossibly closer to Doyoung. He’s warm from the heated blanket that he had been wrapped in while he was asleep. He pulls away from the kiss, his arms still clasped around Doyoung’s neck. “I love you, too,” he says, voice so low it could count as a whisper. His lips curve upwards, and he simpers for a little bit before leaning in again.

When he pulls away, he’s sitting upright now, having slid into Doyoung’s lap at some point when they were kissing. Doyoung hadn't even noticed.

“You’re so pretty,” Doyoung finds himself whispering. “Can I take a picture of you?”

Yoonoh reaches for his phone. "I'm taking one of you first," he says, but Doyoung grabs his wrist and winds it around his neck. Yoonoh laughs and locks his hands around Doyoung's neck so that he's hanging off the older.

His chest feels warm. The skin on his neck that Yoonoh’s palms press into feels warm. He feels impossibly warm, impossibly close to yoonoh, so impossibly _euphoric_ that he doesn’t think he’s even existing in the moment. He feels like he’s floating somewhere between reality and a dream; on the brink, the rift between two worlds. This _can’t_ be real.

But it is, he thinks when Yoonoh pulls back, grabs his wrist, and gets out of bed. He pulls his shirt off his thin frame, then picks his binder up off the floor and pulls it over his head. By now, Yoonoh is comfortable with Doyoung seeing every part of him—and Doyoung has certainly committed every part of Yoonoh to memory—but he still feels the need to look away when Yoonoh gets out of bed to put on his binder, to give Yoonoh some semblance of privacy. He’s almost embarrassed, despite seeing Yoonoh so many times by now. some small part of him must know by now how dysphoric Yoonoh usually is without telling him.

“Come on,” Yoonoh says, pulling him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He’s wearing his favorite hoodie now—the gray hoodie he always wore before he moved in—and Doyoung feels proud of how much weight he’s gained since he had moved in. The hoodie used to hang off him, but now, it’s snug on his thin—albeit lean—frame.

Taeyong is behind the stove, cooking eggs on a frying pan and using his spatula to scrape at the eggs with an unnatural aggression. His eyebrows are furrowed. It’s kind of scary.

“Mornin’,” Yoonoh says hesitantly, seating himself at the counter. “Where’re the kids?”

“I told Jisung to go get a shower. Jaemin’s on the couch moping.”

“It’s _cold,”_ Jaemin complains from the couch, everything below his knees peeking up from the top of the cushions. He idly does bicycle kicks to pass the time.

“Then get a blanket,” Doyoung says in passing before seating himself next to Yoonoh. “So, uh,” he begins, gesturing to the eggs, which look like they’ve been greatly disserviced by Taeyong. “...What’s wrong?”

“Feelings,” Taeyong grunts, resuming his assault on the poor eggs.

“Oo, for whom?” Yoonoh asks, propping his shoulders on the counter and resting his chin on top of his hands. “Notice my grammar. That was very good grammar. Proper. Objective case.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. From the couch, Jaemin groans.

Taeyong glances up and makes eye contact with Yoonoh for a few seconds before he lets his gaze dart back to the eggs. If anything, he uses more force to fry the eggs. “Yuta,” he says shortly. “And Sicheng.”

“Aw!” Doyoung says, simpering.

“That’s what _I_ said!” Jaemin groans. “He’s just pouting.”

“Yuta strongly suggested that he and Sicheng—”

Taeyong is cut off by a loud voice coming from the hallway. “Taeyong!” Jisung shouts. “I need a towel!”

“You _have_ a towel!”

In reply, Jisung just shouts, “I have _a_ towel! Singular! I need another!”

Taeyong, resigned, sighs and takes the pan of eggs off the grill. He retreats down the hall and into the linens closet to find Jisung a towel.

“Now that I think about it,” Yoonoh says, his lips pressed together like he’s considering something. “Yuta and Sicheng _have_ been acting weird around Taeyong lately."

Doyoung pauses, furrows his eyebrows, and then nods. “You’re right. I guess it’s some kind of love triangle.”

“You’re both oblivious,” Jaemin sighs from the couch. “Yuta and Sicheng are so obvious that it hurts.”

“Oh, are we talking about obvious things now? Okay. You’re going to fail your statistics exam tomorrow if you don’t study,” Yoonoh calls over his shoulder, eliciting a groan from Jaemin.

The younger does a few more bicycle kicks in the air before responding to Yoonoh. “It’s a Sunday afternoon. Give me a break.”

“No,” Doyoung says flatly. Jaemin lets out a little scream, but it’s muffled by the pillow that he shoves in front of his mouth.

“Anyways, Jisung hacked Yuta’s phone, and his texts to Sicheng are _ridiculous._ He’s whipped. Sicheng is whipped, too. _Sicheng._ Take a minute to process that.”

Yoonoh whips around in his seat so fast that Doyoung thinks he might have whiplash now. He rubs his neck. “Jisung _hacked_ Yuta’s phone?!”

“Jisung’s had everyone’s phones hacked for months now,” Jaemin says. Doyoung can almost see him shrugging nonchalantly, as if this isn’t a big deal. “Why do you think I have a passing grade in physics? My boyfriend is a genius.”

 _“Na Jaemin,”_ Doyoung hisses, scowling. “You got Jisung to hack your _grades?!”_

“He _wanted_ to! And anyways, would you rather I fail and not get a scholarship?!”

Neither Doyoung nor Yoonoh answer him.

“That’s what I _thought,”_ Jaemin says proudly. “Back to the trio of idiots. Last I heard, Sicheng was hyping Yuta up for something. I don’t know what that something _is,_ per se, but it’s gonna be good, and it’s probably related to Taeyong.”

“Taeil needs to give Taeyong some relationship advice.” Doyoung stands and spoons Taeyong’s severely abused eggs onto a plate, then gets out a few smaller plates to distribute breakfast with. “He was my number one when it came to talking to Yoonoh.”

“Doyoungie, you know how I think you’re very smart and have a great memory?” Yoonoh says sweetly, to which Doyoung nods, confused. “Well, _I’m_ the one who kissed you first. You did nothing.”

“I gave you a place to live!” Doyoung pouts. “And you!” he says, pointing to Jaemin. “And Jisung and Taeyong!”

“...Can I have some eggs?” Jisung asks quietly as he walks into the kitchen, hair dripping wet and face red from the hot water. _Damnit,_ he’s wearing one of Doyoung sweaters again.

“You’re wearing one of Doyoung’s sweaters again,” Yoonoh says as Doyoung frowns and hands Jisung a plate.

“Well, _I,_ for one,” Jaemin says, getting up to get a plate of eggs and kiss Jisung’s cheek. “Think he looks adorable in oversized sweaters. He’s keeping it.”

“...Fine,” Doyoung grumbles. When Taeyong stomps in, jaw locked, Doyoung hands him a plate of eggs, too, and his expression softens a little.

“Thanks,” he says weakly.

“You know,” Doyoung says, sitting down. He feels his sage wisdom kicking in. “Everything’s gonna be fine with Yuta and Sicheng. I promise.”

Taeyong shakes his head. “I don’t want to think about them right now. This is Jaemin’s day.”

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows. “No, Jaemin’s birthday is in August. It’s February.”

“He got his letter from the Institute of the Arts this morning. He’s going to open it…” Taeyong glances at Jaemin, who suddenly has a letter in his hand. “Now, apparently.”

"He _what,"_ Yoonoh says flatly. Doyoung nods in agreement. They both manage to make Jaemin laugh, but his face falls quickly as he stares at the letter in his hands.

Jaemin looks up at Doyoung with wide eyes. “What if I didn’t get in?”

“Trust me, you got a full ride to _somewhere,_ even if it wasn’t the Institute of the Arts. You worked hard to make up the grades that you missed while you weren’t in school. You’re going to be fine,” Taeyong says soothingly. Jisung wraps his arms around Jaemin’s waist from behind and rests his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. It’s disgustingly cliché, but at least it calms the older, if only a little.  

Jaemin wastes no time in ripping the envelope open. He pulls a letter from inside, peels off the sticker keeping the paper folded, and sticks it to his pant leg carelessly. He unfolds the letter hastily, then skims it quickly.

“Fuck,” Jaemin says quietly. A smile blossoms across Jisung’s face, and he buries his face in Jaemin’s shoulder to laugh. “I got in. _I got in.”_

“I _told_ you!” Doyoung grins, pulling Jaemin into a hug. Yoonoh joins, then Taeyong, and Jisung positions himself so that his arms wrap around not only Jaemin but Doyoung as well.

“It’s a full ride,” Jaemin says, clutching the letter to his chest. “I got a presidential scholarship.”

“I _told_ you your audition was great,” Jisung pouts. “I gave you the go-ahead on the choreography. Of course it was amazing.”

“I’m proud of you, Nana,” Yoonoh says. God, he sounds like a proud dad. Doyoung feels like fainting. Or kissing him. Or both.

The faint buzzing of a phone breaks apart the hug. Taeyong, his voice lilted with what sounds like disappointment when he next speaks, grabs his phone from his back pocket and looks at the caller ID. “Sorry,” he apologizes to Jaemin, bringing his phone to his ear and pressing _accept._ “Hello?”

A voice that Doyoung doesn’t recognize fills the room. It’s muffled by Taeyong’s hand, but the volume on the phone’s speaker is much louder than it should be. “Come outside,” the voice says. “To the parking lot.”

“Is it important? Yuta, I—”

 _“Please,”_ the voice—Yuta, apparently—says. Taeyong sighs, brings the phone down from his ear and drops the call.

“I’ve gotta go. Sorry.”

With that, he’s speed-walking out of the apartment, letting the door close behind him at full-force. It slams loudly, startling Jisung, and Yoonoh puts a hand on his shoulder to remind him where he is.

Doyoung and Jaemin share a knowing look before they both dart to the window and pull the blinds open just enough for the two to peek through them and see Yuta and Sicheng leaning up against their car in the parking lot.

“You shouldn’t spy on them,” Yoonoh calls from the kitchen, but Doyoung just shrugs.

“Jaemin is a bad influence.”

In under a minute, Taeyong is hurrying across the parking lot, and Doyoung feels a bit idiotic for not offering him a jacket to keep him warm in the cold February weather. Doyoung can see him shivering even from up on the sixth floor.

Sicheng notices this and quickly shrugs off his jacket so that he can drape it around Taeyong’s shoulders. Yuta says something quickly, then hides his face in his hands while Taeyong stares at him, mouth dropped open in shock.

“Did he…?” Jaemin asks quietly.

Doyoung nods. “I think so."

Taeyong rushes forward and wraps his arms around Yuta. Sicheng hugs both of them from the side.

“He did it,” Jaemin calls to Jisung and Yoonoh. Doyoung turns just to look at Yoonoh’s smile.

He holds his hand out and bends his pointer finger down like he’s taking a picture with an invisible camera. He tsks, smirking as Yoonoh realizes what he’s doing. The younger buries his face in the sleeves of his hoodie.

 _‘You’re adorable,’_ Doyoung thinks. ‘ _And you’re mine.’_

Simpering, he takes another “picture,” watching Jisung run to Jaemin to complain about how they're being domestic again. Jaemin shouts, “They’re kissing! God, how do you even do that with three people?” and Doyoung grins, crossing the room to take Yoonoh into his arms.

“Are you blind? They’re taking turns, dumbass,” Jisung says. Doyoung doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s exasperated.

“Well _I’m_ sorry I’m not looking at the man who is essentially my older brother make out with his new boyfriends, _perv,”_ Jaemin pouts. There’s a quiet whacking noise, and suddenly, Jaemin hits the ground and groans in pain. “Ow, fucker!”

“Kids, play nice,” Yoonoh calls. Jisung cackles.

Doyoung sighs and rolls his eyes. He turns his attention back to Yoonoh. _"God,_ you're pretty,” he says for the second time that day. “I love you.”

Yoonoh turns his head and kisses him—soft and slow—and Doyoung forgets about Jaemin and Jisung and Taeyong and anyone else even remotely near him, because all he can think about is _Yoonoh, Yoonoh, Yoonoh,_ and he’s drowning, he’s intoxicated, he’s _elated,_ and all he can feel is Yoonoh on him. Yoonoh with him. The warmth that’s spreading through him, centered in his heart, moving him closer to Yoonoh.

And, well, he thinks that’s all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so five months after publishing this my fucking monkey brain convinced me to edit this instead of. yknow. actually working on my wips. so. yeah
> 
> i miss writing this fic so much it was my little baby :( expect a sequel eventually about jaemsung because i literally cannot control what i write anymore, i just wake up at 4am with glowing avatar eyes and write 40 words then drop dead and sleep for a few days
> 
> thanks to my stupid dumb amazing boyfriend for watching me write this in one agonizingly slow month. also thanks for all the stupid references we have now, like the fact that seolie is based off sadie the angel cat and the phrases " 不，艺林，我听说她被踢出了，因为她是一个FAGGOT!" and "jisung limp bizkitted."
> 
> and thank YALL for getting this far!!! i've never written more than i have before in this fic, so thank you so so so much for reading. stay safe, i love you all! please take care of yourselves!
> 
> stay safe drink water and remember that i love u!
> 
> -daniel 032519
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


	2. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some clarity, now, Doyoung decides that there’s something special about the makeshift family that he’s created.

With some clarity, now, Doyoung decides that there’s something special about the makeshift family that he’s created.

Obviously, Jisung is a genius. Now that he’s no longer on the streets, he’s able to grow more than ever. There’s nothing doyoung loves more than seeing him come home with a new term’s report card and proudly display the high grades by pinning the card onto the fridge with a magnet (the one that Jaemin had made him, with a big heart on it that makes Doyoung cringe every time he sees it). He’s already making plans to attend a technical university despite the fact that he’s only a junior. He’s been offered multiple scholarships, but he’s turned them all down in favor of staying at a university closer to Jaemin in Seoul. He seems… Afraid to part with Jaemin, at the very least. He doesn’t cope well with Jaemin being away at all, but Yoonoh smothers him in enough affection to hopefully take his mind away from it all.

Jaemin comes home on the weekends. Of course, they live in the same city, but on different ends, and with Jaemin’s incredibly busy schedule, Doyoung just can’t find the time to make the trip to his dorm and back with Yoonoh. Sometimes, though, Jaemin will skip dinner with his university friends in favor of stopping by the gas station for a pack of ramen and a few snickers bars. Every time, he acts like he’s not there to see Doyoung, but he always asks how Yoonoh is, how Jisung is, and whether or not Taeyong is eating right. Usually, Doyoung has next to no clue, but he blames his schedule for that.

Taeil has somehow managed to get Jisung and Taeyong jobs at his new restaurant. Doyoung goes on a few dates there with Yoonoh and decides that the food is delicious, but Jisung makes sure he’s their waiter and laughs at them the entire time. He decides not to go on any more dates there.

Johnny, the ever-present giant, is just as tired now as he used to be, but at least he’s not putting up with as much of Taeil’s bullshit anymore. Doyoung hears through the grapevine (read: Jisung, whisper-screaming into the receiver of his phone to tell Jaemin the news) that he had proposed to Taeil not long ago, and that Taeil had said yes.

Taeyong has long since fixed whatever he had with Sicheng and Yuta. He’s moved in with them, and sometimes, Doyoung walks into class and sees Taeyong sitting on Sicheng’s lap like it’s nothing. Usually, Taeyong will try to kick Doyoung away from him.

(He stopped that the day he kicked Doyoung into the aisle and the younger tumbled down the stairs for a solid minute before rolling to a halt in front of the professor. Needless to say, that was the last time Taeyong fooled around in class that he wasn’t even enrolled in.)

Sicheng is the same. Doyoung supposes that’s fair, and as a title of appreciation, he dubs Sicheng,  _ “The only constant in my life; the shining light.” _

(Yuta wants to be the shining light.)

(Yuta cannot be the shining light.)

With some hesitancy, he dubs Yuta,  _ “Nasty, evil man. Bad boy. Gremlin.” _

Unfortunately, Yuta, ever-the-dramatic, refuses this title and rebrands himself—albeit a bit untruthfully— _ “The sunshine to Doyoung’s grass.” _

“That doesn’t make sense,” Doyoung had argued, but Yuta just closed his eyes, turned his nose up, and repeated his new title with something in his voice that could only be described as pride.

...Yuta is Yuta, as usual.

But Yoonoh?

Doyoung has to smile just thinking about it. Yoonoh is a completely different person now.

Yoonoh is loud. Yoonoh shouts, he laughs, he screams at slasher films (but he would never admit it), and he  _ loves. _

His love is quiet. Subtle. He says, “I love you,” only in the comfort of Doyoung’s arms late at night when his breathing evens and his eyes flutter shut. In the mornings, it’s a kiss on the temple. In the afternoons, he’ll snuggle closer. in the evenings, it’s the squeezing of Doyoung’s hand, it’s a special smile that  _ only  _ Doyoung can receive—not even Jisung, who Yoonoh would quite literally die for.

His love is quiet. It’s sweet, and Doyoung thinks he likes this more than he would if Yoonoh always told him he loved him. It makes the nights more intimate, and Doyoung knows that Yoonoh is at his most vulnerable when he pulls himself into Doyoung’s embrace and murmurs,  _ “I love you,”  _ into his collarbone.

And Doyoung? He has a cozy new job as an executive’s secretary at a technology company in town, and as soon as he graduates, he’s guaranteed a job as the manager of the Seoul branch of the company. For once, he’s glad to have majored in business.

So yes, Doyoung thinks that he’s happy. He may come home late every night after staying too late eating takeout with his boss (because Kun is a saint and knows just how hungry he gets), and he may be one bad grade away from not graduating, but he’s  _ content.  _ He’s content with the family that he’s created, and he’s content with everything he has in his life. Hell, he’s even content with Jisung’s constant whining about how they don’t have enough variety in their dinners.

And on one of the rare sunday mornings that he doesn’t have to work, he’ll snuggle closer to Yoonoh, whisper sweet nothings into the younger’s hair, press kisses to his forehead. He’ll wait for Yoonoh to wake halfway, wait for him to murmur, “Love you,” before shutting his eyes tight and falling back asleep.

And Doyoung, tired, overworked, but  _ content,  _ will smile, let Yoonoh curl into him, and fall back asleep. That is, of course, until Jisung wakes him up for food, or until Jaemin wakes him up to say hello, that he’s back from university for a day, that he missed him.

...Not that he minds.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mind me--just tying up loose ends.
> 
> so... that's it. i'm super attached to this fic and i absolutely had to write an epilogue for it because i missed writing it so much. thank you so so so much for reading!! please stay safe and remember that i love you!!
> 
> -daniel 110418
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markbfs)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/markdery)


End file.
